JUNO
She was due to give birth any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Aizabut to her family, she was simply Juno. I cant recall who first muttered that odd yet affectionate nickname, but it stuck firmly. And so, the dog lived with two names: one for her loved ones, the other for everyone else. She didnt mindJuno it was, then. No harm in that.
Aunt Lydia, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and endlessly doting on her beloved pet. Juno knew this and took full advantage of her soft-heartedness. Despite having completed my «Basic Obedience Training» course and even passing her obedience test with flying colors, the dog allowed herself many liberties under her owners indulgent care. She slept exclusively in their bed, often disregarding all notions of hospitalityshoving Uncle William onto the floor at dawn with her powerful paws, sprawling across the freed space, and snoring loudly as she drifted back to sleep. She ate like a true family member, resting her heavy head on Aunt Lydias lap at the dinner table. Sometimes, shed even snatch a tempting morsel straight from a plate without a hint of remorse. Her owners permitted it all, and at the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort, theyd rally half the town in a panic.
Thats exactly what happened this time.
Back then, mobile phones didnt exist, but people managedknowing where to find someone and relying on taxis to handle emergencies. Aunt Lydia had fetched me and brought me to her home, where Juno greeted us at the door. She was noticeably rounder, her belly swollen, but otherwise in full healththough breathing heavily. Understandable, given she was about to deliver. At a glance, I estimated shed bless her owners with a dozen puppies. No fewer.
Well? Aunt Lydia asked anxiously, glancing at the dog. Is it time?
Aunt Lydia, I replied, slightly flustered, at least let me take off my coat and wash my hands before examining her.
Juno, anticipating a flood of attention, yipped excitedly, wagging her tail and grinning wide with her massive jowls. She wouldnt go into labor for another twelve to fourteen hours. There were no complications requiring my immediate intervention, which I quickly reassured her about.
What?! Aunt Lydia gasped. Youre leaving us alone tonight? What if she delivers early? What if a puppy gets stuck? Her eyes froze in terror. Sensing her distress, Juno whimpered and fixed me with a pleading stare.
Ive told youshes fine. Shell give birth tomorrow morning, closer to noon.
Lauren, the older woman begged, if anything happens to Juno, I wont survive it. You remember how sick she was? I nodded. You remember when she nearly died? Another nod. I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat of that?! Her eyebrows shot up in accusation.
Honestly, that episode had shaken meAunt Lydia hysterical on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup. Id never seen such panic over a dog. It took immense effort to calm her enough for me to treat the actual patient. I didnt want a repeat.
There we are, then, Aunt Lydia said, relieved, and hurried to the kitchen to make tea, delighted shed persuaded me to stay.
Suddenly, Junos memory kicked in. She recalled that a trained dogs place wasnt in the kitchen but by the front door, in the hallway.
Wheres Juno? Aunt Lydia fretted, noticing her absence at the table. She stepped into the corridor and found the dog sprawled on the mat, head drooping between her paws.
Juno, she called. The dog glanced up knowingly but didnt budge.
Ah, Aunt Lydia realized. Youre scared of Lauren, arent you? She wont let you in the kitchen. Strict teacher. She laughed, almost childishly.
I never ceased to marvel at dogs intelligence. Here was a spoiled pet, allowed every indulgence at homeyet she remembered that an instructor wouldnt tolerate misbehavior. Clever girl.
The flat was spacious by local standardstwo large, sunlit rooms on the second floor of a cozy wooden house. After a light supper (which I forced down out of politeness), Aunt Lydia showed me to the spare room. A private bathroom with hot and cold running water was a luxurymany homes in our town lacked even that in winter. I couldnt refuse the offer.
Fresh from a steaming shower, I stepped outonly to find Juno waiting.
Were you guarding me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does our expectant mother want? I pressed, meeting her adoring gaze.
Juno dashed to the living room where her owners were, then glanced back at meas if asking permission to return to her usual routine. Crafty creature. But at the last second, she trotted back to the hallway.
Soon, Uncle William returned from work. More tea, more chatting. Oddly, Juno refused to sleep with them that night, leaving them baffled.
Outside, a blizzard was brewing. Clouds smothered the sky, threatening a relentless snowfall. The moon, barely visible, vanished entirely. Winter in full force.
By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep eluded meIve always been a night owl. Giving up on counting sheep, I picked up a magazine from the nightstand. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy. I switched off the lamp and settled in, leaving the door ajarjust in case.
Then, in the dead of night, I woke in agony. A sharp pain shot from my neck to my chest. My medical bag was in the other room. The pain escalated rapidlyI couldnt stand. My breath came in shallow gasps. Dizziness and weakness set in. I needed help.
I called for Aunt Lydia, but my voice was a whisper. Juno appeared. Seeing my state, she grew frantic.
Juno, I rasped, clinging to hope. Fetch Lydia.
The dog stared, calculating, then bolted to the bedroom. I heard her scratching at the doorlocked. Bad luck. She clattered back to me, her worried eyes signaling failure.
Juno. Open the door, I croaked. The pain intensified. If I passed out now, I was done for.
On her third attempt, Juno used her weight to shove the door open. She bounded to Aunt Lydias side, nudging her awake.
Juno, do you need out? Its early, came a groggy voice.
The dog persisted. Finally, Aunt Lydia rosebut instead of coming to me, she dressed, clipped Junos leash, and headed for the door.
I heard the struggle in the hallway. Juno planted her paws, resisting with all her might. It took strength to move a beast her size. Seizing the moment, she yanked the leash, dragging a bewildered Aunt Lydiastill in her coatstraight to my room.
Aunt Lydia gaped at me, then at Juno. The realization struck: this wasnt a whim. I needed help.
Lauren, are you ill? she panted.
*No, Im just joking*, I thought acidly. But the pain was real, unbearable.
My bag, I managed before another wave hit.
Miraculously, Aunt Lydia sprinted for it. Returning, she hesitated. Should I call an ambulance? The neighbor has a phone.
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the vial and syringe. Time was critical. But my hands failed meAunt Lydia stepped in, snapping the ampoule and drawing the dose. I injected my thigh without flinching.
*If I survive, Im getting checked out.*
The pain ebbed. My cheeks flushedor so Aunt Lydia said. She wasnt one to lie. She was shaken, though. Over tea, I thanked my savior. Dogs truly are intelligent.
Sleep was hopeless now. Juno, ever the dutiful pupil, asked to go out repeatedlydragging Aunt Lydia into the snow each time.
By eleven the next morning, contractions began. Now it was my turn to aid Juno. A litter of sturdy, squirming pups arrived in quick succession. Aiza stared at her treasures, utterly stunned. That bewildered, triumphant gaze stayed with me forever. She was a mother nowa title earned.
Shes long gone, having lived a full, loved life. Yet I still think of hermy rescuer. Animals remember kindness. And sometimes, when the wind howls just right through the trees, I swear I hear the faintest click of nails on wood, pacing softly down a hallway only I can remember.
